Baby Steps
by Ronja-R
Summary: Stories of Katniss' and Peeta's life after the war, framed by Katniss' first pregnancy.
1. Katniss

This is the first "Hunger Games" story I began to write. I though I had deleted it but I found it on my hard-drive the other day. I read through it and realized it's not quite as bad as I thought it was so why not post it? It's fluffier than the stuff I normally do, I don't feel like I had really found the characters yet when I wrote it and since I never planned on posting it there's stuff in here that I've re-used for other fics. All the same I hope someone will enjoy it =)

This first part is just a set-up so no flashbacks until Chapter 2.

* * *

I wake up in the middle of the night, panting, sweating, heart racing in my chest. It's another night plagued by nightmares but not the usual ones that cause me to wake up with a scream or a start, always waking him who sleeps next to me. Every so often I have nightmares of a different kind and these ones always leave me paralysed and unable to utter a sound. They are not about horrors trying to end my life or cause me physical pain. They are about feelings of guilt and of debts I can never repay. They are always about him. Peeta.

I take a few deep breaths to try and calm myself and look over at him as he snores lightly next to me. His sleep looks calm and undisrupted. My hand reaches out and gently moves a curl of his blond hair away from his brow. Images from my dream haunt me as I watch him sleep. Images that are more than just terrors that my mind cook up; they are memories. Memories of seeing him on the Capitol's broadcasts when I was in District 13. Memories of kisses in a cave and tender moments he thought were real and I thought were fake. Memories of me aiming my bow at him by the lake, ready to kill him without a moment's hesitation.

Memories that make my throat close up and my chest tighten in a mix of panic, guilt and fear. Of how I treated Peeta, from the moment his name was drawn at the reaping till the moment I let him know that I love him too. The memories make me feel ashamed of myself. He loved me all that time and right from the start he was willing to sacrifice his own life to save mine. In return I used him to survive our first Hunger Games, toyed with his emotions while I was torn between my feelings for Gale and feelings for Peeta which I couldn't decipher and I turned my back on him when he needed me in Thirteen even though I at that point knew I had feelings for him too. We were so fundamentally different in that aspect. His way of coping with the dire situations we had too often found ourselves in was to make the most of what time he had left and enjoy the company of those he loved as much as he could. Mine was to keep everyone at arm's length because the less you care about somebody the less it hurts to lose them. Deep down I knew I had feelings for Peeta when we went back into the arena but I refused to acknowledge it even to myself because I was too afraid to admit it in case I lost him. I think a part of me was afraid that if I did admit those feelings to myself I would jinx him and he would die.

I tell Peeta about a lot but I never tell him about these dreams and how they fill me with such grief and shame that I can hardly stand it. I don't tell him because I know he would never understand and he would try to explain to me why my feelings are wrong. It doesn't seem to bother him that I ignored him or turned my back on him a few times too many when times got rough. To him all that seems to matter is that I did fall in love with him in the end. What he doesn't see is that one of the major sources behind my anxiety is that I loved him long before the end yet still turned from him when the Capitol had hijacked him.

I take a deep breath to try and calm myself. My eyes find familiar sights in the bedroom and I'm comforted by their presence. The clock on the nightstand. The portrait Peeta painted of me for my twentieth birthday. The vase on the dresser which sometimes holds a primrose. The room is very familiar to me, every corner of it. I've been sleeping here for almost twelve years. When we first became a couple Peeta and I spent all our nights in my house but I eventually decided we should move to his instead. I'd rather start anew and not dwell in the rooms where too many memories haunt me. In my house I will never stop expecting to see my sister come down the stairs or stop imagining that I can hear her and our mother talking. The only thing I would miss from that house was the primrose bushes Peeta had planted for me and those could me moved to his house instead.

It took a while to convince him that I was serious. Really, though, it makes a lot more sense for us to live in this house. His kitchen was the one redesigned to fit a working baker and not just for a family to cook their meals in. Even while he slept in my house and in my bed he spent a lot of his daytime baking in his old house. His house carried no dark memories, at least not for me and if they did for him he didn't express them. My house on the other hand felt full of pain and suffering. Peeta objected to that and pointed out that we had shared a lot of wonderful times there together but in the end I never felt they could outweigh the ghosts that haunt me there. I wanted us to start fresh and build a happier future for ourselves and I felt that would be much more appropriate in Peeta's house. So he agreed and when we officially started to live together our address was that of his house, not mine.

Peeta grunts in his sleep and rolls over on his back. I curl up close to him, resting my head on his chest and draping an arm around him, staring out into space as I listen to the steady beating of his heart. I think again of our first Hunger Games and how I ran from the mutts with no goal other than reaching the Cornucopia, not even thinking about my injured companion until he cried out to me. I think again of how my immediate reaction to the rule change being revoked was to prepare to put an arrow through him. It's not just guilt that plagues me when I think back at those moments. It's a much more selfish feeling than that. It's the thought of what would have happened and where I would be if I alone had survived the 74th Hunger Games. If I had never come to love Peeta and experience everything that comes with that. Frankly I don't think I would have even survived to the end of the war if Peeta hadn't made it out. He saved my life plenty of times, both physically and emotionally.

It's a debt I can never repay. It's true that I saved him as well but in my eyes that is easily cancelled out by all the pain and horrors he was put through thanks to me. The torture at the hands of President Snow, for instance. Adding to my debt is every moment where he thought only of me and I did the same – thought of Katniss. I hate being in debt to anyone and Peeta is no exception to that rule just because he is my life companion.

It's during nights like these that the thought creeps to me and it is during this night that I make my decision once and for all. I know of only one thing I could do, one thing I could give Peeta that would begin to erase my debt to him. I can give him the child he has wanted so badly for so long. The thought has run through my mind almost every night that I've woken up with these kind of nightmares but I've never been brave enough to conquer my fears and take the leap for him. It's not that I haven't wanted to have children; I just haven't been able to get past the fears that have been with me since my own childhood and the horrors that could befall a child back then. The horrors that befell my sister, me, Peeta.

Tonight I reach the point where my fear is less strong than my desire to give to him the one thing he longs for but can't have. The one thing that would bring him enough happiness to make up for at least some of the happiness he gave to me before I could give anything back to him in return.

* * *

I decide not to say anything to him. After spending nearly fifteen years fearing the idea of pregnancy while often and eagerly engaging in the activity designed for just that purpose I suddenly find myself worried that I might not even be able to get pregnant. I've been on birth control pills for almost a decade and a half and who knows how long that stays in the body? Or if I ever was fertile to begin with? I don't want to tell Peeta that I changed my mind about having children only to then not be able to give him one. It's better he doesn't know and that it becomes a surprise.

Keeping something that significant a secret from him doesn't make me as uncomfortable as one might think. In fact I find myself even more aroused and invested in our bedroom activities than before, an achievement in and of itself, just thinking about how I might soon have something to tell him that's going to make him euphoric.

It doesn't happen at once. In fact it takes almost seven months from the night I decided to stop taking my pills. It's true that those months did include a two month period where Peeta took part in building a library and spend the better parts of his days moving timber and carrying bags of bricks, coming home so physically exhausted that we were only intimate on a few nights. Still I had begun to grow concerned until the morning I wake up with such an overwhelming nausea that I wonder if I will make it to the bathroom in time. Luckily Peeta has already been up for about half an hour to finish a large shipment of cookies that were meant to be sent to former District 9 with the 10 o'clock train. There are things I could hide from him but miserably clutching the toilet as I empty what little is in my stomach is not on the list.

A week and a half later when I have gotten the most telling sign that I'm expecting a child the previous worries about being barren wash away only to be immediately replaced by the return of terrors of old. I do not want to have children. I could not bear the thought of raising them and loving them only to have them taken from me or subjected to horrors that would plague them for the rest of their lives the way Peeta's and mine plagued ours. This was a mistake. The Hunger Games may be over for good and peace may be upon Panem but that makes little different in my mind. I have lived for too long with the fear of having to watch those I love subjected to torment and death. There is a reason I firmly decided never to have children.

Then I think of Peeta and try to calm myself as I grab a hold of the bathroom counter, holding on so tight it makes my fingers whiten. Peeta is not afraid. Peeta believes it can be okay. This is what he wants. He would make such a fantastic parent. People like him should get to carry their DNA over to a new generation. Anything else would be a waste of good genes. Centuries from now there should be people who can proudly say they are direct descendants of Peeta Mellark. I can do this. I can do this for Peeta and for myself. Looking at myself in the mirror I take a trembling breath and release my grip on the counter. I can be a mother.

I manage to calm myself enough just in time for Peeta to walk in and kiss me on the cheek. My eyes are still fixated on myself in the mirror but in the corner of my eye I can see him unbuttoning his shirt to take a shower. It is evening and he has been working in the hot bakery all day long. I don't mind him coming to bed sweaty, in fact I often _make_ him sweaty between those sheets, yet I can't seem to encourage him to not take these showers every afternoon. He feels better after them and I know I shouldn't object. It's just that I like it when he smells and tastes of baking and the showers tend to wash all that off him.

"You didn't happen to see if there were any strawberries when you were in the woods today?" asks Peeta, bringing me out of my thoughts.

"No" I reply, leaning forward to splash my face with water. "No strawberries. Not yet."

"Pity" he replies, sitting down on the side of the tub to remove the prosthetic on his left leg. "Today I had such a craving for making the first strawberry cake of the year."

Hearing him talk about cravings unsettles me a little. I fill my mouth with cold water and let it splash around in my mouth for a moment, hoping it will calm some of the queasiness I feel almost around the clock now. Though I take my bow and quiver and head out to the woods every day I do almost no hunting. The woods are my refuge, where I go to hide my upset stomach from the man who doesn't yet know the reason why I'm feeling so sick. I had decided to wait until I was sure to tell him of my condition. Now that I'm almost positive I should tell him. I turn around to face him, grabbing a fresh hold of the cool counter behind me. He has finally gotten his prosthetic off and puts it to the side, looking up at me with a smile.

"You know what I wish we could find?" he asks.

"What?"

"Wild raspberries." He folds his pants neatly before standing up on his one leg. "When my father could get his hands on them, which was not often, he would make a custard out of them and use it in both cakes and cookies. Raspberry was my favourite but it's very rare in these parts."

I say nothing as he not-so-gracefully makes his way from the tub to the shower. It makes me nervous that he showers without the prosthetic because I worry he might need it for balance. More than fifteen years with only one natural foot have made him quite used to it though and he seems to have no trouble at all keeping balanced as he pulls the shower curtain between us to keep water from splashing everywhere. I lamely open my mouth to speak but then I hear him whistle as the shower comes on and I realize the moment is gone. And really, what had I had in mind? Telling him his biggest remaining dream was about to come true while we're in the bathroom? That's depressingly unromantic even for me.

I walk over and pick up his discarded clothes, neatly folded but in dire need of washing. I prefer any motion that allows me to lean forward. It seems to help the nausea a little bit. I take his clothes and put them in the hamper, walking out to the bedroom to get him new underwear and a pair of pyjama pants. He only sleeps with the top half of a pyjamas even during the coldest nights of winter. I prefer having direct skin to skin contact with his chest and his arms as I drift off in the night.

Once I have everything set up for him in the bathroom I go back to the bedroom and lay down on our bed, curling up in a foetal position. I hope he'll stay in the shower for a long time. Hiding my nausea from him gets exceedingly difficult each day and from the looks of it this baby has no intention of letting me off the hook with the sick stomach anytime soon.

When he does come out and come to bed I should tell him. I could curl up in his embrace and give him the news he's been wanting to hear for so many years. But when the moment actually comes fifteen minutes later and he's with me on the bed I can't bring myself to say anything. I realize I'm still worried about my ability to carry a baby for nine full months. It's a strange feeling to have that fear at the same time as I fear motherhood. I know enough from my mother to know that the first three months are the most risky and that the majority of miscarriages happen during that timeframe. I should wait. I should try and keep this a secret from Peeta until I reach the point where I can feel somewhat safe that the baby will at least survive its initial nine months inside of me.

The decision made I turn away from Peeta and pull my legs up toward my chest, wondering if I'll be able to hide the nausea from him for three more days, let alone three months. I feel him shift beside me and align his body to mine, his arm wrapping around me and his face nuzzling by my neck. I should probably start thinking about a plan B. There must be something I can tell Peeta that would explain my nausea without making him think that I'm pregnant. Something that wouldn't make him worry too much about me.

He moves his left thigh, letting it rest on mine. The feeling is still so strange after all these years. His left leg stopping right below the knee, not being complete. Tonight the feeling brings back memories of those hours in the arena when I feared I would lose him, that his wound would make him bleed to death before the mutts finished Cato off. Of the moment when my traitorous mind was thankful that he had that wound because it increased my chances of surviving him. It reminds me of why I allowed myself to get in this state in the first place and assures me that I can endure a couple of weeks or months of nausea. For him I can do just about anything.


	2. Haymitch

The first thing I become aware of when I wake from my dream is that I'm screaming. The second is Peeta's comforting arm around my shoulders. The third is the nausea rising like a wave. I close my eyes and gulp hard. It's only when I sleep that I seem to be free of it. Five weeks have passed since it first appeared and how I've managed to hide it from Peeta I will never know.

I sit up and draw my knees closer to my body in the hope that it might ease the desire to vomit. Peeta sits with me, placing a soothing kiss on my shoulder as he rubs my upper arm with the hand draped across me.

"Just a dream..." he mumbles soothingly, still half asleep.

"Yeah" I pant.

"It's been a while since the last one" he notes. "I wish I could tell you that one day they will go away completely but that would be a lie."

"We're both stuck with nightmares" I mumble in response.

I lean my head forward, closing my eyes and resting my brow against my knees while I wrap my arms around my legs. I don't even remember what I dreamt about but that's just as well. There are too many horrors to choose from. I'm exhausted and part of me wants to go back to sleep right away, hoping that one nightmare per night will be the limit, but first I must make the nausea dial down. It's threatening to overwhelm me at the moment, as if fuelled by the bad dreams.

I lift my head and plant a gentle kiss on Peeta's lips.

"Go back to sleep" I say. "I'm going to go to the bathroom and then I'll fall asleep again right away. I'm exhausted and I can't even remember what I dreamed about."

He frowns but doesn't protest as I lift up the thin blanket we sleep under during the summer months and swing my feet over the side of the bed very carefully. Any movement that's too hasty is sure to make my stomach even more upset. I walk hurriedly towards the bathroom, closing the door behind me and rushing over to the sink to splash my face with ice cold water. I then fill a glass to the brim and take a few trembling sips. Maybe the cold water will make me feel better.

It has the opposite effect. Merely seconds after I gulp it down I find myself sending it right back up again, along with whatever was left in my stomach from our dinner. I gasp for air, close my eyes tight and inwardly curse the tears that always stream down my face with this activity. I wait for a while to see if it will get any better but it doesn't at first and I begin to fear it will be like most days out in the woods. Ever since this whole thing started I have spent my time out there in a battle of wills with my uprising stomach, losing more often than winning, and sometimes it's as if once I start vomiting it can go on for ages, far beyond the point where my stomach is empty. I don't even want to think about how many basic hunting rules it violates; it's not as if I have a choice in the matter and it's at least better to seclude myself in the woods until I'm far enough along to let Peeta in on what's going on.

It's a wonder he hasn't started asking questions yet. It's the height of summer yet I often come home without any game at all, looking worse for wear than I ought to. Twice I have even bought game from a pair of teenaged siblings who are sometimes out hunting as well; officially to encourage the young people in town to learn how to hunt and provide for themselves but the real reason is to fool Peeta into thinking I did something more productive out in the woods than fight the sickness in my stomach and nibble on bread. One of the strangest things about this whole situation is that the one thing that seems to make the nausea better is eating. Bread is the best thing, something I can easily much on even when my appetite is low. I have begun stealing bread from Peeta's morning trays, hoping he won't notice that I've taken a much keener interest in his baked goods than I ever have before, which is saying something given how fond I have always been of the things he bakes. I'm worried that if he notices it will be one more piece of a puzzle that shouldn't be too hard to assemble and I'm not ready for him to know about it yet. It's still far too early.

When I go back out to the bedroom I'm startled to find Peeta still sitting up in bed waiting for me. It's obvious that he heard me in there. It would be impossible for him not to have heard. Nervously I walk back to the bed and climb up on it, sitting next to him without uttering a word while my mind races a mile a minute. I have to tell him _something_, but what? I have never been good at spontaneously lying to him. Plus he can read me like an open book after everything we've been through and all the years we have spent together. I need to get creative and fast.

It takes almost a full minute for him to say anything. He just looks at me and even though the room is dark I can see sadness and worry in his eyes. When he speaks he takes me by surprise.

"You are sick" he states. "Real or not real?"

I'm stunned at first. As time has gone by he has played that game less and less often. In the past ten years he's used it maybe four or five times, always following a particularly powerful episode of the remains of the hijacking he was put through. Asking: "Real or not real?" is his tool to find reality when something far too frightening overcomes him. Him using it now must mean he's afraid that there's something very seriously wrong with me.

"Real" I manage to answer.

It's hard to tell in the darkness but I think his face goes pale. He looks away for a second and swallows, then meets my eyes again.

"How bad? And why have you not told me?"

My hand reaches out and caresses his cheek.

"I didn't tell you because I didn't want to worry you" I tell him. "I spoke with Mother over the phone when it first started... She says my symptoms are those of a disease that seems like stomach flu but it holds on for much longer. Weeks. Months even." As I speak the lie comes easier and easier. I do remember Mother teaching Prim about this many years ago although she never said anything about it lasting for months. That part is just me buying time.

"Where would you have caught such a thing?" Peeta asks.

"Contaminated food or water" I answer.

"What have you eaten that I haven't?" he wonders.

"It could have been in just one fruit" I tell him, hoping he won't question it further since I am making this up as I go along now.

He looks at me with worry but at least the fear seems to be gone from his eyes. His hand reaches out to caress my cheek and I find myself smiling as I realize we are mirroring each other.

"How bad is it?" he wants to know. "I mean... how bad do you feel?"

"Like hell" I complain, relieved to finally be able to share my troubles with him without giving away the surprise too early. I lean in and rest my head against his chest, his arms wrapping protectively around me. I sigh, closing my eyes while wondering how I made it this far without his support. I'm not used to facing hardships without Peeta sharing it with me. It's how we have operated for almost as long as we've known one another.

"You should have said something" Peeta mumbles into my hair. "You had me worried."

"It will pass" I assure him. "The nausea, I mean... Mother says I just need to rest and drink plenty of fluids."

"Perhaps you shouldn't go out into the woods every day if this is how you feel" says Peeta. "I know you love your hunting but I'm rather concerned you'll get into trouble out there if you're ill like this. A bunny rabbit could probably harm you in the state you've been in lately."

I can't help but laugh at the idea and wrap my arms around him, feeling a bit better.

"I'll think about it" I tell him.

"Do that. I know how much you love your woods but these past few weeks I've been honestly worried when you've been out there."

I assure him there is nothing to be worried about and give him a kiss. We lay back down and with his arms around me I soon find myself calm and at peace again. Before I can drift off to sleep a thought haunts my mind. Peeta wants children so much but I have been adamant against it. So adamant in fact that when faced with signs of a pregnancy he doesn't even consider that as a possibility, worrying instead that I might be ill. Something about that is deeply unsettling to me.

I hear his breaths turn slow and steady and after a while they are accompanied by light snores. As he sleeps I let my mind wander, thinking back to when our fake relationship turned into reality. He wanted children even then, although not right away as we were still in our teens. I don't want to think about that right now. All I want to think about are the good times. There have been so many. Many, many more than I ever thought possible during the war or in those first agonizing months after my sister's death. Peeta brought me back to life. He gave me a future. In those first months of our relationship I never once felt guilt over the times I had made him sad since I knew I was now making him very happy. Against all odds we were making each other happy.

* * *

_Fifteen years earlier_

When I wake up in the morning it is a morning of many firsts. The first time in as long as I can remember that I've had a smile on my face. The first time in ages that I've felt good when I've woken up. It is the morning after Peeta and I consummated our relationship, which at least for me was my first time being intimate with someone, followed by my first admission of love to him. I turn my head to look at him and my smile somehow manages to grow wider. He looks so peaceful where he sleeps next to me. I know that even if I live for a thousand years I will always remember the look of happiness on his face when I confirmed that I do love him, not to mention the feel of the kisses that followed. I had thought that kisses could feel no better than those earlier that night, the ones that woke my hunger for him again. Instead I learned that when you can admit to yourself that you love another person and admit it to them as well the kisses get even better. I know now it was always going to end this way between us but I also know that it could probably not have happened any sooner. We needed all this time to get to this place. _I_ needed it. Peeta, he was already there, had been for a long time.

With a gentle hand I slowly caress his cheek, allowing myself a luxury I've never fully allowed myself before. To watch him as he sleeps, taking in every aspect of his face, marvelling at how the facial features that were nothing special to me at one point now have become the most beautiful features I have ever seen.

A loving smile plays on my lips. My sweet boy with the bread. Though after last night, calling him a boy is probably wrong. More like my sweet man with the bread. Truth be told I don't even know if last night was the first time for him as it was for me; perhaps some other girl already took that step with him in the past and made him go from boy to man. It doesn't really matter much. I know that whatever has transpired between him and other girls earlier on can in no way compare to what we gave to one another the night before.

I decide I can't wait any longer to look into his eyes again. The hunger his kisses last night woke in me refuses to be sated. Even after we had been as intimate as two people can be I still craved more and more. Now I lean in and press my lips to his, feeling his mouth curl into a smile a second before his hand grabs the back of my head and a content groan lets me know he has woken up. His eyes remain closed for another few moments until the kiss ends and our eyes meet.

"Last night..." he begins.

"Real" I say before he can ask a question, laughing a little just because I'm happy for once.

"Today?"

"Today is ours" I tell him. "Forget baking or painting or hunting or getting intoxicated just from setting foot inside Haymitch's house. Today I just want to be with you and explore this."

The hunger is too persistent, too urgent for me to want to think about anything else than how to satisfy it. I want to spend every moment of my day with Peeta, exploring him, letting him explore me and together exploring everything new that comes with this upgrade of our relationship. I know Peeta won't object. He's been wanting for this much longer than I have. I wonder if every time we've ever kissed he has felt that hunger that now threatens to consume me. I think that might be the case but if so I have no idea how he managed to contain it. Never once has he tried to press his advantages. There hasn't even been a straying hand in his sleep. I find it impressive but I am happy to note that I won't have to restrain myself the way he has done. What I want is right there for the taking. Peeta belongs to me now and I belong to him.

I kiss him again, feeling my desire only grow deeper with each passing moment. It feels so good to finally let myself feel what I have been trying for so long not to feel. It feels so good to finally enjoy being in love.

* * *

It takes months to satiate my hunger to the point where we can start to find some form of normalcy to our lives, so reluctant am I to let go of that positive feeling. Those first months are forever embedded in my heart and my mind, memories I bring back and cherish when life gets too hard. We are all over each other during this time, experimenting and exploring and learning exactly how much fun sex is and how creative a pair of teenagers can be about it. When we aren't naked we're for the most part kissing or touching. It is probably a sickening sight to see which is why it is fortunate that we are left to ourselves most of the time. We do try and get our act together when other people were around, a shift that is not lost to us. Between the 74th and 75th Hunger Games we put a lot of energy into convincing people we were in love. Now that we both are we put almost as much energy into not making it painfully obvious in public.

Not that we fool anyone, or even really want to. It just seems inappropriate to act on our every desire when other people are watching and I think Peeta feel as I do, that the best moments are those that are shared when nobody but us is around. No cameras, no audience, no one who listens. The secrets we whisper to each other in the night are only for each other's ears. The proclamations of love and affection are nobody else's business.

Of course, we can't always contain ourselves. Every Friday evening we have dinner with Haymitch, a tradition Peeta started when he came back from the Capitol and eventually involved me in, and the first week we are together our old mentor quickly tires of the looks we share and the kisses we steal when we think he's not paying attention.

"If I wanted dinner and a show I would have gone to the Capitol" he sighs and gets up from his chair halfway through the meal, tossing his dirty napkin of the table. He stops at the door, giving us a look that is part irritation and part happiness for us. "Get a cave, you two. They seem to have suited you in the past..."

He leaves and Peeta and I share a look before bursting out laughing. We then finish dinner in a very platonic and well-mannered fashion, mocking the fine wine and dine style of the Capitol more and more with each passing minute. Then after dinner is done we retreat back upstairs and behave in ways Effie Trinket surely would never even imagine.

Though it's not just physical. We play games, tell each other stories, spend long stormy days entertaining each other in front of the fire in the living room. For the first time in forever I'm actually having fun and it surprises me because I never thought I would again. This is why I need Peeta to survive. The fun we have, both with and without clothes on, and the happiness that's in my heart can only come from him. Finally I begin to understand what he talked about at the beach of the Quarter Quell when he said his life would have no meaning anymore if I were gone. Now that I have tasted this kind of joy and fulfilment it's hard to imagine ever having quality of life without it.

* * *

When enough time has passed that I've reached the point where I don't crave Peeta's lips and hands on me _right now_ at _all times_ I am hit by a sudden reflection. It's been months on end without me taking many steps without him, spending almost every waking moment together at the cost of previous preferred activities such as my hunting or his painting. When the realization dawns on me it irritates me. This is not me. Katniss Everdeen is not someone who needs to spend every single moment with her boyfriend. She is not someone who depends on others. She is a free-spirited, independent person.

At first it makes me a little embarrassed to look back at myself over the past months. I have truly become the role I once played for the cameras; a role I disliked because that Katniss was so... co-dependent. True the past months have held more bliss than I thought my life ever could after the Games and the rebellion but enough is enough. I refuse to live the rest of my life as some ridiculously infatuated girl who can only talk and think about her boyfriend.

So when I wake up the next morning I quickly get out of bed and declare to a barely awake Peeta that I am going hunting. He mumbles something incoherent in reply and buries his face in the pillow, clearly not aiming to get out of bed for a good while yet.

I shower and dress myself for a day in the woods, sneaking past Peeta who has gone back to sleep and head down the stairs to rummage the kitchen for something to eat while I'm away. With my trusted bow in one hand and a backpack in the other I leave the house and very independently stalk towards the woods.

It feels remarkably good to be out there on my own again. Thoughts of Peeta often appear in my head but I have no trouble proving to myself, or anyone else who might care, that I can fully enjoy a day in the woods by my lonesome. It's actually a bit of a relief to enjoy the silence, go where I want to go when I want to and do whatever I feel like without considering what somebody else might want. I hunt, I gather some herbs, I hike around the woods and for an entire day I don't speak a single word to anybody but the animals in the forest.

I don't return home until it's almost nightfall. Peeta and I have spent practically a full day apart, something that hasn't happened in a long time, and now that I have been so independent all day long I can afford to smile with eager anticipation as I walk the steps leading up to the front porch and the door. It's beginning to get dark outside but the windows of my house shine with warm light, illuminating the primrose bushes planted beneath them. It feels great, coming home this way. I might not have my mother and my sister waiting for me when I pass the threshold but I have another type of family that's no doubt as eager to see me as I am to see him.

"Hi!" I call out as I walk inside, ignoring Buttercup who sneaks in with me. The smell of freshly baked bread fills the whole house and I quickly get my jacket off to go and greet the baker. When I walk into the kitchen Peeta is taking another set of beautifully golden bread loafs out from the oven. He carefully sets them down on the stovetop and turns around to greet me, spots of flour on his cheeks and looking better than ever.

"Hey" he says. "Catch anything good for dinner?"

Before I answer him I put the game bag down on the table and walk up to him, claiming his cheeks between my palms as I give him a hungry kiss. I have longed for that kiss all day long but I don't like to admit it.

"So you had a good day in the woods, then?" says Peeta with a charming smile when our lips part again.

"Caught three squirrels" I tell him. "I was tempted to do some fishing but that can wait until tomorrow."

The line is in its own way a form of test. So far he has made no comment about being surprised or displeased that I was gone all day but I wonder how he will react to spending one more day apart from each other.

"Sounds like a plan" he tells me, making me frown. "We haven't had fish in a while. I know something though that can't wait until tomorrow."

He kisses me again and I wrap my hands around his neck, agreeing wholeheartedly that this can't wait until tomorrow. In fact it can't wait another five minutes.

Fifteen minutes later we untangle ourselves and get up off the floor. Peeta pulls his pants on again and walks over to the table to start working on the squirrels. Sounds good to me, I'm famished. After putting my own clothes back on I take a seat on one of the chairs, pulling my feet up under me, reaching for a cookie in the basket sitting on the table.

"Don't" says Peeta, somehow knowing what I'm doing even though he has his back turned to me. "Those are for Mayor Wilcox. Special order."

I frown.

"Mayor Wilcox? When did you speak to him?"

"He was here earlier in the day" Peeta tells me, grabbing a knife to get to work on the squirrels. "Him and his family are moving in to the new house tomorrow and they wanted something nice to treat their guests."

"So you've been keeping busy all day?" I ask, grabbing another cookie.

"Pretty much. It was refreshing, really. It's been a while since I spent an entire day with my bowls and my pans."

I make a sullen face while I ponder this and watch him from behind as he prepares dinner. He doesn't sound like he missed me much at all today. In fact he sounds rather relieved that he got the chance to do something other than, well, me.

"What about tomorrow, then?" I ask. "Once Wilcox has stopped by to claim his cookies. What will you be up to?"

"Depends on how long you're gone fishing, I guess" he shrugs.

"I might be gone all day, like I was today" I declare.

"Great" he says and actually seems to mean it. "If you catch more fish than we need and decide to trade some, could you see if you could find me some cardamom?" He finishes skinning a squirrel and tosses the fur in the sink. "I'm almost out and I won't be getting any from the Capitol in around two months."

"In conclusion you are fine with me being gone all day long so long as you get some cardamom out of it" I say, wondering why it bothers me so much that he doesn't hate the idea of us being apart for several hours.

Peeta turns and smiles at me, tossing the squirrel's tiny entrails to Buttercup who is meowing and begging like a pro.

"Cinnamon rolls taste better with it" he says.

"Oh, well in that case."

If he picks up on my snarky tone he doesn't let it on. By now I'm not sure if I'm more irritated with myself or with him. Why do I care so much about this when I myself want to spend time on my own? Why does he not care that we'll be spending another full day away from one another? Has he been secretly longing for this for a while now without me realizing it?

"You surprise me" I say.

"Do I?" He tosses the skin from the second squirrel in the sink.

"Yeah."

"How so?"

"I didn't think you'd be more excited about spices than about spending a day with me."

He chuckles.

"I wouldn't say that." He turns his head and gives me another smile. "These past few months have been great. They just couldn't last forever. At some point we have to establish some form of normalcy. You go out into the woods because that's what you like to do. I bake bread and decorate cakes because that's what I like to do. We both had interests and lives before this happened between us and we'd both be miserable if we gave that up. Plus I think we'd drive each other insane after a while if we were together all the time." He finishes skinning the last squirrel and turns around to face me, looking sad all of a sudden. "And I think... I think we've been using our relationship as a means of escape. The more time I've spent with you, the more intense and physical things get, the more I can try and forget the things I don't want to think about. Did you know I dreaded the day I would start baking again?"

"No."

"Yeah, well I did. I mean, I've _baked_ since the war, I just... I haven't spent a full day baking in I don't know how long and it's not just because of lack of time." He makes a face and goes to grab a frying pan. "My whole family... everyone was a baker."

I look down at my hands and nod slightly. He doesn't talk about it very often so it's almost surprising to me when I'm reminded of his loss.

"I miss Prim" I say. "I miss Gale."

Peeta gets the frying pan without a word and then stops as he is about to put it on the stove. His latest batch of bread is still sitting there. For a moment I wonder if he's about to have another flashback and if those bread loafs will come flying across the room in just a few seconds. Instead he sets the pan down with a sigh and begins to toss the still warm loafs into a basket.

"I guess we've both been using each other to escape" I say.

"I guess so" says Peeta, tossing the last loaf of bread in the basket and clearing the stovetop.

"I never thought I would feel good again" I say. "I never wanted to let go of that feeling once I had it. The feeling was real. We just... overdid it, I guess."

He sighs heavily.

"I wouldn't call it that... and I can't speak for you. You have your own demons to fight. All I know is what it's been like for me and I really needed it. That you actually love me too, I couldn't believe it. When you've wanted something for that long and it's finally yours you don't squander time wallowing in grief and sadness."

He sounds so resigned. I watch him work to prepare dinner and I realize I've hardly spent a second thinking about his problems and his losses. Hell, I haven't even spent much time thinking about my own in the past months. All I've wanted to do was forget and to explore everything new and joyful that Peeta brought into my world.

I get up from my chair and walk over to him, wrapping my arms around him from behind. He freezes for a second but then continues his work.

"You're absolutely right" I say. "We have been using _us_ to escape from our sorrows. Maybe that should taint us somehow but it doesn't for me. Ever since the Games, no ever since my father died I have been searching for something to make the pain go away. I had long since given up on finding that when I returned here after the war. Then you somehow made it happen... Maybe it wasn't the smartest thing in the long run, I mean we did only delay dealing with things, but I for one really needed it. What's so wrong about letting love make you feel better? As long as it's _real_... and it is between us." I kiss his neck. "I love you. We gave ourselves a few months of indulgence. Now it's time to face the things we've been running from and I think we're much better equipped to do so than we would have been if we hadn't focused so much on the new development between us."

"I just don't want this to be about nothing more than escaping pain" mumbles Peeta.

"It's not" I assure him. "It's how about we make each other feel. It's about having hope for a future."

Finally he stops preparing dinner and turns around. His arms wrap around me and we hold each other close.

"This kind of sucks" he says. "This whole conversation and having to have it in the first place."

"Yeah."

"I thought I was ready for this... I've been expecting it for weeks. I guess we're done escaping now but I kind of wish that we weren't."

"It's going to be different" I say. "I'll be out in the woods, dealing with my stuff. You'll be wherever you prefer to be, dealing with yours. When we're together we'll help each other deal. And at least once a day we'll do something fun, just for us. It's not all been escapism. A whole lot of it has been two people in love."

He pulls back from the hug and finally smiles again, even if it's not quite as brightly as when I first walked through the door.

"I still find it hard to believe sometimes" he says. "That you love me."

"Believe it." My arms move from around his waist up to around his shoulders and my fingers begin to play with the hair at the back of his neck. "But just so you won't begin to doubt I think I will have to remind you as often as I can."

I kiss him lovingly, hungrily. Yes, I'm still independent Katniss who likes to go out hunting and gathering in the woods. But I'm also with Peeta now and that means truly sharing my world with him. All I have to do is figure out how to find the right balance.

* * *

Buttercup struts by me and over to the couch where Peeta is busy sketching. With a meow the scrawny cat hops up on the couch and begins to purr as he climbs up on Peeta's lap. I snort. From the moment Peeta began to spend a lot of time here Buttercup has made no secret of who he prefers and of course it's not me. The ugly fellow looks over at me and seems to grin and purrs even louder, as if to point out to me that not only does he like Peeta better, he is also now occupying the lap I love to rest my head on. I roll my eyes and walk over, grabbing Buttercup by the neck and lifting him away, ignoring his indignant hisses.

My plan is to wrap an arm around Peeta's shoulders, get his full attention by blowing air into his ear and then comment on whatever he's drawing before giving him a good reason to put his pad and pencil away and focus on me. I only get as far as sitting down on the couch beside him because then I see what he is sketching and I suddenly feel like I know what Haymitch feels when I wake him up with a bucket of cold water.

On the piece of paper in his hands Peeta has lovingly sketched a picture of me kneeling on a meadow, my hands gently gripping a toddler attempting to take her first steps. It's an excellent sketch, drawn with love and care, and it practically makes my skin crawl.

"What is that?" I manage to get out.

"Something I've been working on for the past hour" answers Peeta, oblivious to my tone.

"Why are you drawing me and a child?" I ask coldly.

He looks up, surprised by how hostile I sound.

"Because..." He shrugs and turns his eyes back to the drawing. "Sometimes I get tired of drawing the past and find it more fulfilling to draw visions of the future."

He's unprepared when I grab the piece of paper and yank it away from him, resulting in a large line of charcoal running over the face of the child. His perplexed and annoyed look only makes me more irritated.

"Why on earth would you draw a _child_ in our future?" I ask.

He looks even more perplexed. Then he looks angry and gets up from the couch, setting his pad down on the coffee table.

"What has gotten into you?" he asks. "What's so strange about me imagining us one day having kids?"

I realize that I never actually told him how I feel about marriage and procreation, or if I did it was at some point when he had reason to believe I wasn't serious. Getting angry and yanking the piece of paper from his hand was probably an unfair reaction. Still, no time like the present. He needs to know my stance on this and the sooner the better.

"Peeta I don't want you going around hoping to hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet" I say, pulling my feet up under me on the couch.

"Relax Katniss" he says, his voice calmer and his eyes friendlier. "I don't want to have kids _now_. I want to have you all to myself for the nearest future. Besides, we're not even in our twenties yet and I think we need to work past some of our issues from the war before bringing children into the world."

He's obviously not getting it. I set my feet back on the floor and stand up slowly.

"I can't imagine ever having children" I tell him.

"Yeah I feel that way sometimes too" says Peeta. "When I have those attacks of hijacked memories or when one of us has a terrible nightmare or when I see Haymitch too drunk to even stand up straight I feel like we can barely take care of ourselves, let alone a new generation. Then those moments pass, often very quickly, and I think about how many great things there are in the world. Things I'd like to share with a kid, you know?"

I hold up my hands to stop him from getting carried away.

"That is not what I'm saying" I emphasize. "I'm saying that I do not want children. At all. At any point. It's not something I feel during the worst of times, it's something that I feel at all times. You need to know that."

He frowns.

"Maybe you feel that way now but the further we get from the war-"

"It has nothing to do with the war!" I object. "I mean... Yes it has to do with the war but it's not just that. How can you want children? How can anybody want children when they've seen what we've seen and suffered what we've suffered?"

"Katniss I understand why you feel that way" he says. "_I've_ felt that way. But all that is in the _past_ now."

"It will never be truly in the past" I object. "These nightmares that we have, they won't completely go away. I'm sorry Peeta but I'm not bringing a child into this world. I don't care if you want one or not. It's never going to happen so you might as well accept it and please don't draw any more pictures of it. Now you know how I feel and that's just that."

"Evidently so" he says, his blue eyes colder now. "You don't want kids and that's just that and to hell with what I want."

"I'm sorry" I say, which could have been a good start if not for what blurts out of me next. "That's just the way it is and it sucks for you that you find out about it now but it wouldn't be such a shock to you if you had bothered to get to know me before deciding you were in love with me."

Once the words are out there's nothing but silence for about ten seconds and those seconds feel like minutes. I don't know what compelled me to say it. Maybe it's an insecurity I've carried somewhere deep inside. He didn't know me when he fell for me and after he was hijacked I saw far too clearly that there were sides of me he had either chosen to ignore before or just plain failed to notice. There is some part of me that wishes he hadn't fallen in love with me until he knew me. Maybe what happened after his hijacking was that he fell in love with me all over again, this time knowing full well all the negative things about me, but I don't know that for sure.

Peeta stares at me with disbelief and I feel a brief pang of guilt over what I said. Then my frustration over being in this situation takes over and I feel anger more than guilt. Why does he have to want kids? Can't he see that it's a horrible idea? Why does he always have to be so naive and believe that things can just work out?

"Wow" he says when he finally speaks. "I cannot believe you are throwing something like that in my face. I never _decided_ that I was in love with you and the mere implication..." He snorts. "I'll take my offensive drawings and offensive opinions somewhere else."

I can tell there are a lot of other things he would like to say to me right now but when it comes to using his words he has always been much smarter than me. He knows when to talk and he knows when it's better to hold his tongue. He walks past me and goes out the back door, resisting the urge to slam it. I scowl at him once he's gone, even angrier because he didn't retaliate and say something equally hurtful to me. As it is I now have to feel guilty over what I said to him knowing he didn't retort.

Buttercup meows unhappily, probably worried that he's not going to get cream in the morning now that the one who provides the tastier food has left.

"Oh of course you'd take his side" I hiss at the cat.

I quickly put out the fire and stomp upstairs, too angry and worked up to be concerned about going to bed all on my own. I don't even miss him when I close my eyes and try to go to sleep. When I wake up screaming from another nightmare it only makes me angrier to not find him there. Why didn't he stay and yell it out and then we could both have gone to bed sulking, our backs turned to one another? He wouldn't have been overly fond of me but at least he would have been here. Being angry is no excuse to leave me all alone to fight my nightmares.

Buttercup lies on Peeta's pillow and glares at me in the night. He obviously doesn't feel the least bit sorry for me. Still, at least he's a living being and he's someone I found comfort in before Peeta came back from the capitol. I reach out for him and pull him over to me and he doesn't protest. I bury my face in his fur and wish things could be different. Why did I allow myself to think life could be peaceful from now on?

* * *

A few days pass without Peeta coming over and without me going to see him. It's the longest we've been completely apart since returning to our homes and while I hate sleeping alone and I miss his company I'm also mad at him and unwilling to go and apologise. I know I said something hurtful that I didn't really mean but the core of the problem is not something I should be apologising for. It's my full right to never have children and I have pretty much convinced myself that he's angry with me for it and that it's the reason why he won't come see me. So after the first day has passed I've managed to convince myself that he should be the one to come and apologise, or at the very least try to make things better again.

I spend most of my time out hunting or bartering in town. I avoid the stores I know Peeta visits the most even though there's a part of me that hopes I will run into him. I can't figure out what I really want or how I really feel right now and it angers me. I'm in a really foul mood and even Buttercup begins to leave me alone rather than end up in another hissing match. After the third day I don't even see the cat anymore. No doubt he's figured out where Peeta's at and decided he was better company.

I take most of my anger out on the animals I hunt. I feel a little bit better the day I manage to shoot a small deer, drag it back from the woods and sell most of it to the butcher. I don't need the money but I don't need that much meat either and it's good business to deal with the butcher. He takes care of preparing the meat and by tomorrow I can come and pick up the share I didn't sell without having to lift a finger.

On my way home I realize I should have gone into a clothing store and bought a new pair of gloves but I can't be bothered turning around now. The gloves I'm wearing have a tear in them and the cold winter air has begun to really chill my fingers which just adds to my current annoyance. Well, at least I don't have to feel that cold air in the night since with Peeta being a no-show I can sleep with my windows shut.

I'm more than halfway home when I feel the scent of alcohol and I realize the sound of footsteps have been following me for a while. There can only be one person those footsteps and that alcohol smell belong to but I'm not interested in talking to him.

"I see you and Peeta have detached yourselves from one another" notes Haymitch, coming up to walk beside me.

I snort at him and furiously kick an icy bit of snow. It seems that no matter how far we get from the very public lives we once led we will always have Haymitch as an audience.

"I had no idea you cared so much" I say in a tone that implies that he's pathetic for taking an interest in our love lives.

"Well, you could either take out all your anger on the snow or you can tell me what caused Peeta to suddenly remember there are bedrooms in his house too."

"It's... this stupid drawing" I mutter, staring at the snowy ground before us. "Nothing you would be interested in."

"What did he draw?" Suddenly his face widens with a grin. "Johanna Mason in the nude?"

"No" I say with a frown.

"Delly Cartwright in the nude?"

"No."

"Gale in the nude?"

The obvious enjoyment he's taking from it infuriates me and I send my elbow into his chest. The grin disappears for a second but then he chuckles.

"Whatever he did paint it doesn't matter" he then says. "You will have forgotten it by the end of the week if not sooner. I know you've never been in love before, sweetheart, but even though you may have thought otherwise you're going to fight with him and you're going to make up with him and you're going to do it often." He shrugs a little. "Perhaps not as often as some but it happens to every couple. The sooner you learn not to be so dramatic about it the better. Sulk for a day or two then kiss and make up. They say make-up sex is really good."

My face turns as red as it's ever been. The last thing I ever need to hear is my former mentor talking about _that_. I've never been comfortable discussing that particular topic; even with Peeta I prefer not to talk about it. Enjoying it is one thing, putting the things we do behind closed doors into words is a whole other.

Besides, Haymitch doesn't understand. Not if he thinks this is just a simple quarrel between two young lovers.

"Haymitch he painted a picture of me and a child."

If I weren't so frustrated I'd find the look of pretend horror on his face comical.

"The nerve!" Haymitch gasps. "If I had only known. Too bad the Games are over because he should be sent straight back to the arena."

"This is not a joke" I say angrily, frustrated that he doesn't understand me the way I've come to expect him to always do. "I don't want children. I'm not going to have children."

"You're not supposed to want children at your age" says Haymitch. "But you know Peeta. He's probably frustrated now that he doesn't have anybody he needs to protect."

"That's not funny" I say icily.

"Katniss I don't see what the big deal is" says Haymitch and looks at me with his eyebrow raised. "He painted you with a child, so what? He sees his future with you. I was under the impression you had begun to see yours with him."

"I do" I say, calming down a little. "Children are just not part of the deal."

"I know they are among the most annoying things on the planet, what with the noise and the smells and having to _raise_ them... I wasn't aware that _you_ were so adverse to the idea. You've always had such a maternal strike about you."

That surprises me a little. Haymitch and I think very much alike and I thought if anybody could understand it would be him.

"After everything we've seen how could any of us want kids?" I ask. "I can't understand that you and Peeta seem to think it's a good idea at all."

"The Hunger Games are over, Katniss" says Haymitch, confirming that his mind does go to the same places as mine does.

"So?" I say, my voice rising a little. "There's always going to be some new threat. Games or no Games, kids still die of hunger or diseases. We've only had peace and freedom for a few years; who's to say it is going to last? I will not bring children into the world when I can't guarantee them a safe place to grow up in."

"When was there ever a safe place and time to grow up in?" asks Haymitch. I look up at him and he's got a strange look in his eyes as he studies me. "Things are different now, Katniss. I don't know about you... I thought one of the reasons why we rose up against the Capitol, one of the things people fought and died for, was so that people would no longer have to be afraid to start a family because the Capitol could take their children away." We reach the Victors' Village and he stops at the part of the road where we go in different directions. He shoves his hands in his pocket and looks at me. "I get that you're afraid, sweetheart. I'm betting Peeta is too but he's braver than you or me. He might have painted that picture for any number of reasons but if having children is something he really wants then you should think long and hard about that."

"I should be forced to bear children because the person I am with wants them?"

"You should learn to compromise. That doesn't mean you have to do all the things he wants but it sounds to me like you're not even considering it. At the very least allow him to want it even if you're never going to give it to him." He begins to walk towards his house, turning his head to give me one last bit of food for thought. "You are not playing dress-up in front of the cameras anymore, sweetheart. This time it's for real. You should think about what that means and remember that there are things in life he wants other than you."

* * *

I spend the rest of the day sitting on the couch with Buttercup, who for whatever reason decided that I'm worthy this afternoon, thinking about the things Haymitch said. I know he's right – to an extent. It's just more complicated than that. Usually Haymitch offers sound advice but in this matter it's not as clear-cut as when our lives were on the line. There is no real right or wrong here. Nobody is obligated to have children or even want them, just as everyone has the right to want them. He's right that it will come down to a matter of compromise but he can't offer any answer as to who should be the one to give in. That's up to Peeta and me.

Even so I crave his advice. I realize it as the day goes on. When I finally grow tired of Buttercup's angry meowing over wanting dinner I get up and feed the cat and then leave my house to go see Haymitch.

I step inside expecting to find darkness, the smell of old garbage and my old mentor stretched out on the sofa clutching a bottle of white liquor like a child would a bottle of milk. Instead the place is somewhat clean, the lights are on and it smells like dinner. Surprised I walk through the corridor into the bright kitchen where Haymitch sits with a deck of cards, playing some form of solitaire. He looks clean and sober and the kitchen is somehow clean even though I can clearly tell from the smell that he's had a proper dinner.

"Hi" I say with a hint of confusion.

He looks up.

"Well hello again, sweetheart. You just missed your boyfriend. He came over and seized my kitchen, force-fed me some form of spinach lasagne. Too bad you're late or you could have gotten some yourself."

That explains a thing or two. The smell of food, the lights, the kitchen and the whole downstairs area being clean. Peeta hates a mess when he's preparing food. I wonder why he came by. Was it to talk about me? It annoys me that Peeta would turn to Haymitch for advice about us even though I'm here for that very purpose myself. It must be even more awkward for Haymitch. He never signed up to be a mediator between the two of us.

I pull out a chair and take a seat by the table.

"I don't know why he bothers feeding you" I say. "Sounds like a waste of good lasagne to me."

"If you're here for some friendly advice you're not off to a good start."

"Is that why Peeta was here?" I ask, reaching out for a grape from the bowl on the table.

"No" says Haymitch. "Unlike you he doesn't want something every time he walks through my door. It's Friday, in case you haven't noticed, and the boy and I have been having dinner on Friday nights since he came back from the Capitol. I feel odd telling you this since you've been present for the vast majority of these occasions but since you don't seem to remember it I suppose I have to remind you."

"I had no idea it was Friday" I mutter, chewing down on a grape.

"Peeta came to have dinner" says Haymitch. "You've come for something else. Let's hear it, sweetheart."

I grab another grape and chew on it slowly before speaking.

"I don't want kids, Haymitch."

"That really isn't my problem" he replies, studying the card he just drew before placing it on one of the piles. "Unfortunately it's the boy's problem."

"You said there are things he wants other than me" I say. "Why did you say it?"

"You know why I said it."

"You think we'll fall apart over it?"

"Children tend to be a deal-breaker" says Haymitch. "If one person wants them badly and the other can't imagine having them somebody's going to end up giving in and in the process lose a huge part of themselves. Usually it's the person who wants kids who has to give up. We both know Peeta would never force you to get pregnant against your will."

"No" I agree. "He would never do that." There's a pause. "So you think he will leave me?"

"No I don't" sighs Haymitch. "That boy has gone to hell and back for you; he was willing to die for you before you even saw him as a _friend_."

"You're saying I should leave him" I conclude. "So that he can have kids with somebody else and be happy."

"I'm not saying that either" says Haymitch, setting the cards aside and looking up at me. "If he has to make the choice he'll choose you above children, every time. If you love him then you'll let him choose for himself. I just think you should be sure, Katniss. If you don't want to be a mother then don't be. Just... make that decision for the right reasons."

"I don't want children" I say. "For the right reasons. Because I know I can't handle it."

"Then might I suggest you two keep a bit more distance between your baby makers" says Haymitch dryly and begins to lay out the cards for another round of solitaire. "Those pills I presume you take are no guarantee. What will you do if you one day realize that he's knocked you up, huh sweetheart?" He gives me a firm look. "That's what you need to think about."

The reality of what he's saying overcomes the embarrassment I feel at the mentioning of mine and Peeta's private entanglements. I don't believe Haymitch is advocating lifelong chastity but rather that he's trying to make me think long and hard about how I truly feel. There is always a small risk involved, truthfully I have been a bit nervous for a few days every month in case I would get a sign that the pills have failed me, and as long as I'm in a real relationship with Peeta this is going to be a possibility. I don't want children but I also don't want to give up my sex life with the man I'm in love with. The closeness, the pleasure, the intimacy... Something we share that is truly ours and gives us an outlet for all the things we feel that words cannot describe. It's a risk I'm willing to take and I know that the odds are for once in my favour but there are never any guarantees.

"If that happens..." I say slowly after a minute. "Then I suppose I will be a mother."

"There are easy ways to end unwanted pregnancies, you know that" says Haymitch a touch too casually.

"I couldn't" I say. "Not Peeta's baby. There's no way I could ever abort a child by him."

"That's good that you know that" says Haymitch much more gently and he reaches out a hand, placing it on top of mine. "It's not my place to interfere in your relationship and only you and him can decide what's right for you as a couple. But it would have pained me a great deal if he had fathered the child I know he badly wants and you took it away."

I give Haymitch a cold look.

"Well I wouldn't" I say firmly.

"Good. I think you might have your compromise right there."

A dozen insulting comments and clever comebacks are on my lips but I can't seem to get them out. He gives me a pointed look and then returns to his cards. He doesn't need to say anything else. I'm not so adamantly against children that I would take away one that has already been conceived and begun to exist. If I had been then it might get really complicated at some point in our future. I lean back in the chair and grab another handful of grapes. I'm not sure what to make of this, really. The fact that I would not terminate a pregnancy by Peeta means he might get his wish one day and have kids. But it's a faint hope to cling to.

"I'm not going to tell him that though, and neither are you" I say to Haymitch. "It would be cruel. It implies hope."

"You're not as adamant against kids as you think you are" says Haymitch.

"What the hell do you know about it?" I snort.

"I know that you don't hate kids. I know that you have a maternal streak about you. I know that the reason you don't want them is that you don't feel safe enough to have them. Some day that might change."

I say nothing for a while, chewing grapes and flicking the seeds across the table. Peeta must have stayed behind after dinner and cleaned everything up because there's not a dirty dish in sight yet I don't feel bad about scattering grape seeds all over. It's not like Haymitch won't make a mess real soon anyway.

"How was he?" I then ask. "Did he seem okay?"

"He didn't talk about you, if that's what you're asking."

It is, to an extent. I can only imagine what goes through his mind right now. He must have genuinely thought I wanted children, or at least that I was open to the idea, and I can understand that it came as a shock to him that I'm so against it. On top of that I yelled at him about it as if he's in the wrong and then I haven't spoken a word to him in a few days.

"Did he seem okay?" I ask again.

"Why don't you go ask him?"

* * *

The front door is locked but I have a key. The door opens with a creek that reminds me he doesn't spend a lot of time here anymore. Except these past days. I step inside the house which is strangely unfamiliar to me considering my close connection to its owner. Peeta and I have never spent much time here together. I take off my coat and realize the coat hanger is not even on the same side of the door as it is in my house or Haymitch's. I hang the coat up and take off my shoes to avoid getting melting snow everywhere.

I say his name but get no response. I walk into the kitchen and find it empty with no lights on, though on the counter sit some very familiar sights. Flour, sugar, various baking paraphernalia. So that's what he's been doing these past days. I look up at the clock on the wall and see that it's past eight. The house looks like he's called it a night and gone upstairs to sleep but since when does Peeta go to bed at eight o'clock at night?

I walk up the stairs, trying to remember which room is his bedroom. Since the house seems ready for the night perhaps I ought to come back tomorrow but it seems strange to me that he would have gone to sleep already. Perhaps he's just not planning on going downstairs again this evening. He might be up painting or reading a book or doing any number of things. I say his name again but still get no response. I hope he's still awake. I don't want to have to wait till tomorrow morning to talk things over and be on good terms again. I'm tired of being at odds with one another and I'm not sure I can take another night without him near.

I remember which room he sleeps in and knock carefully on the door. When I get no answer I push the door open with my foot and my eyes fall on him right away. He has indeed gone to bed and is asleep already. I turn to leave but then I hear a moan pass over his lips. I turn and look at him, wondering if I really heard it or if I just imagined it. Then he whimpers and I realize what's going on. I don't recall ever seeing it before but Peeta is having a nightmare. I usually sleep through his bad dreams, never knowing about them unless he tells me in the morning, but there's no doubt in my mind that he's having one right now. Then suddenly he gasps and his eyes shoot open. I stand frozen in the doorway, not knowing what to do at first even though I probably should given how often I find comfort in Peeta's arms when I've had a bad dream.

Before I can decide on what to do he sees me and lifts himself up on his elbow. Suddenly I wonder what he was dreaming about. He once told me that his dreams were mostly about losing me. That was before the was hijacked by the Capitol. Are his bad dreams still the same?

"It's just me" I say, in case my appearance in the doorway startled him. I walk closer to the bed. "I came to talk to you but you were already asleep. You had a nightmare." He nods. "The same kind you used to have? That you told me about on the train?" He nods again. Without knowing if he even wants me here after the argument we had I get up on the bed and sit on my knees in front of him. "I'm here" I tell him. "You haven't lost me. You never will lose me. I don't care what we fight about or what might happen; you will never lose me. And I love you. So much that it scares me."

His hand reaches out and runs through my hair. Tired of being at odds with each other and realizing that he needs me now like I so often need him in the night I lean in and kiss him to prove my words. He hesitates only for a second before parting his lips and letting me in. I wrap my arms around him, he buries both his hands in my hair. We stay like that until we both need to come up for air.

"You're welcome under the covers if you'd prefer" he says.

I grin and sit up straight, pulling my sweater over my head. It takes about a minute for me to shed my clothes and crawl underneath the covers and I realize this is the first time I've ever been in Peeta's bed. He's always been the one who comes to mine.

I let my hand caress his cheek before I lean in for another kiss. I haven't apologised to him and he hasn't apologised to me but it doesn't seem like it will be necessary. I've really missed him and he's clearly missed me too. All that matters to me right now is being together and making him feel safe after his dream.

It turns out Haymitch was right. We do occasionally have our fights. And the make-up sex is fantastic.

* * *

I wake up screaming from a nightmare that must have been worse than usual for the intense panic and disorientation does not release its hold even though I can't remember what the dream was about. I gasp for breath, trembling and so anxious it's almost physically painful. Peeta's arms are around me just a heartbeat after I awake. With my eyes closed and my voice coming out in short bits between the gasps I repeat to myself the mantra that helps keep me sane.

"My name is Katniss Mellark. I am thirty-two years old." The words are merely a faint whisper, just enough so that I can hear them myself, but they usually help. Not as much tonight, for whatever reason. Still I continue. "My husband is Peeta. My sister Prim is dead. I live. I survived two Hunger Games. I was the Mockingjay. That was fifteen years ago."

That is as far as I get tonight. There are a few more statements to repeat but I can tell they won't be any help this time. When the faint whisper of my voice goes silent Peeta makes his own addition.

"You are safe at home" he says in a soothing voice. "Everything is okay."


	3. Peeta

This is much fluffier than the stuff I normally write... so don't expect a lot more chapters in this story to be this way ;)

* * *

As with our first engagement I am the one who brings up the topic of marriage.

We are cooped up together in an armchair, Peeta and me, watching the fire slowly die. It is his twentieth birthday, an occasion we have chosen not to make a big deal about. He made a cake, together we prepared dinner, Haymitch joined us and gave the same toast he seems to be intending on giving every time Peeta or I have a birthday. It's short, to the point and basically congratulates whoever is having the birthday for having made it another year more than Haymitch had ever expected.

Now Peeta and I are almost alone. The only other living being in the room is cranky old Buttercup who is rolled up on the carpet by the fireplace. Peeta's hand is in-between both of mine, my fingers casually playing with his as my mind wanders to thoughts of previous birthday celebrations with other people.

Peeta's mind seems to be far away as well but he is the first to break the silence.

"I have to agree with old Haymitch" he says. "When my name got drawn at the reaping I took for granted that I wouldn't live to see seventeen. Now after _two_ Hunger Games and one rebellion I'm somehow celebrating my twentieth birthday. Who would have thought?"

"Nothing's really the way we thought it would be when we first left the district" I reply.

"For good and for bad."

I turn my head to study his face. The blonde hair that falls over his brow, the blue eyes I could stare into forever, the strong jaw I love tracing kisses along. To think that his face once evoked nothing special in me. Now I know I want to look at that face, not to mention kiss and caress it, every day for the rest of my life.

I've been thinking about it a lot in the past couple of months. There's not a doubt in my mind or my heart anymore that I belong with Peeta and he belongs with me. Imagining us separated doesn't seem possible anymore. We're not married, officially we're not even living together, but we are building a life together and life without him seems unimaginable.

"Peeta?" I say.

"Mmm?"

"Do you ever wish things were different?"

"Different how?"

"You know..." I say, reaching my hand up to move a strain of blonde hair away from his brow. "Between us?"

He gives me an uncomfortable look.

"Between us? No, why would I?" He seems quite nervous. "Do you?"

"Yeah" I say.

Poor Peeta. I realize now that I chose my words badly because he seems to think I'm about to break up with him on his birthday. Before he can start to worry too much I continue talking.

"I wish we were married."

The look on his face slowly changes from worry to pleased disbelief.

"Married?"

"Yeah" I nod. My fingertips lightly brush his lips. "Would you, Peeta? Marry me?"

"Am I not supposed to be the one who asks you?"

"You already did" I remind him. "Do you remember what my answer was?"

"That was not real" he says with a frown.

"It wasn't then" I agree. "It can be now. We belong together, you know that. We practically live together already, why pretend otherwise when we can just embrace it? I want to make it official. I want us to be bound together in every way there is." I don't add that I would feel much safer if we were bound together in every possible way because marriage feels like a form of security line. He doesn't need to know that. He just needs to know I want it to happen because I love him. "I want to spend every possible moment of the rest of my life with you."

It's not the most romantic proposal but Peeta doesn't seem bothered. His smile widens and he gives me a loving kiss.

"I would like that" he says. "To be married."

"So you agree, then? That we should get married?"

"If you'll have me."

"I'd be honoured."

We kiss and I realize two rather obvious things. One – I'm once again engaged to be married, which makes two betrothals for someone who vowed never to marry at all. Two – it doesn't scare me or make me uncomfortable. It is so different from the first time around and I'm glad that it's a private affair between Peeta and me and not a public display.

Peeta seems to be thinking something similar. Once our lips part and we come to our senses a bit he addresses the matter before saying anything else.

"So do we... make some form of announcement about this?" he asks. "I don't know about you but there aren't a lot of people whom I can't imagine not inviting to our wedding... Seems like we can keep this more traditional, less spectacular."

"I don't want to restart our whole official wedding circus again" I nod. "The good thing about that though is that I don't think we need to make any announcements. Technically we never called off our engagement."

Peeta laughs.

"Now that you mention it, in the eyes of the public we're already married."

My mind goes back to the interviews before the Quarter Quell and I realize he's right. He lied on stage that night and said we were married and pregnant. I wonder how many people still believe that. Most of the folks we knew back here figured out it was a lie but in other places in Panem people must have believed it. I wonder what they thought during the Quell and during the rebellion. I wasn't exactly acting like a devoted wife, and Peeta...

"Do you think we'll ever get to live without having the damn Hunger Games haunting us?" I sigh. "I hate that our fake relationship continues to follow us even after all of that should be over."

"I don't think people care that much" says Peeta. "Not anymore. We were the new, hip thing back then. Like the latest fad, or something. It's old news now. Too many lives have been shattered and people are just busy trying to rebuild their lives."

"Like you and me."

"Yeah."

"And we build our future together" I say. "I've been afraid of the future for a long time but with you I'm actually looking forward to it."

He gives me a kiss.

"So do you want to do it soon? If we're just doing a brief ceremony with you and me we can have it happen next week."

"I think something a little more celebratory than that is in order" I smile. "I don't want a big shindig like we would have had under Snow's orchestration but I want it to be special. It's for real, this time. It really means something." I remember his reaction when I suggested an engagement during the Victory Tour and how it took Haymitch to explain to me that Peeta didn't like it because he wanted it to be real. How many times did I hurt him without even understanding it? I give him another kiss, more passionate this time. "No cameras... No Capitol audience... No voting on which dress I should wear... You and I can have whatever we want. All on our own terms. Let's take some time and plan this and make sure it's just the way we want it."

"All I want from our wedding is for you to feel the way I do and want it as much as I do" he tells me, reminding me again of our first engagement.

"I do, on both accounts" I whisper and bring my lips to his again.

* * *

The day of our wedding I wake up alone in bed. It's September and eight months have passed since we decided we were going to do this. We could have probably gotten all the planning done in just a month or two and at first Peeta wanted us to do it around the time of my birthday in May. I argued against it, preferring to have the wedding at the end of summer, after the time of year when the Games were held. Too many dark memories are associated with the beginning of summer for me to want to have one of the most important days of my life at that time of year if it can be avoided.

I have not slept all that well during the night but for once it's been more about nerves and building excitement than for fear of nightmares. When I wake up it is ten minutes before the alarm is set to go off but I know I won't be able to get another moment of sleep. I toss the comforter aside so fast I don't even notice Buttercup sleeping next to me and he lets out a highly indignant wail at being sent flying across the bed. I make a face at him and he hisses back at me.

"I'm not getting into a fight with you today, ugly old thing" I say. "Don't look so grumpy. You should be glad that Peeta's becoming an official family member. You've always liked him better than me anyways."

After a long shower I stand in front of the mirror, watching myself. For a moment I almost wish my old prep team was there to help me prepare. They would not have approved at all of what stares back at me in the mirror. I haven't given a single thought to getting rid of any body hair since I left the Capitol but different patches of skin have had different success with growing it, leaving bald spots here and there. My eyebrows would probably look like hideous wild bushes in my team's eyes. My figure, at least, is fuller than it was when they first saw me and the hair on my head is in quite good shape thanks to the regular washings it has been getting. I haven't cut it in years and for a brief second I consider doing just that. It would be nice to have it cut real short for a change. Though maybe that had better wait. I would prefer it if Peeta recognized me when I meet up with him at the new City Hall which has taken the place of what was once the Justice Building.

We have talked about it at length over the past months, him and me. What we want our wedding to be like. Neither one of us wants the grandiose show that would have been put up for us in the Capitol had the Quarter Quell not interfered. We'd much rather have something simple, something private. Something like what he told people we had had during his interviews before the 75th Games.

I dress in my regular old clothes though I make sure that the ones I put on are clean. I then grab a garment bag I have kept hidden in the far back of my closet. It's not anything particularly grandiose compared to the gowns I have worn in the past but I saved it for something special and it's perfect for today. Cinna designed it. It's a simple, ankle-length satin dress that shimmers in white and orange. It was made for me to wear for a public appearance after my Capitol-produced wedding and Cinna must have asked Peeta what his favourite colour was before he made it or it's meant to be an allusion to my Girl On Fire persona. I never saw the dress before I left District 12 after the reaping but I found it when I came back after the war was over. I tried it on a few weeks ago and although it's not a perfect fit anymore I can at least wear it and it feels right. I like to imagine that by wearing one of Cinna's creations we will somehow get his blessings.

I put the garment bag in a large bag I am bringing with me to City Hall. I walk down the stairs of the empty house, knowing that soon it will be inhabited by someone else, and cast a glance inside the dining room. We hardly ever use it but we're making an exception for today. After we've signed the legal documents and gone through whatever ceremonies they now use for weddings we will return here and toast the bread together. This evening Haymitch, Greasy Sae and a selected few other people relatively close to us have been invited for dinner and we will reveal our new marriage to them then. I shot a deer just days ago and together Peeta and I have prepared for a nice meal of it tonight, and then there's of course the wedding cake made by the groom.

It's a bit chilly when I open the door and step outside to walk into town. I cast a glance at Peeta's house, the one he's barely ever used in a good while. I wonder if he has left yet or if he's still there. I'm a bit nervous and wouldn't mind walking into town together with him but we agreed we wouldn't see each other until we meet up to sign the documents.

"Are you wearing _that_?" Haymitch's voice breaks through the silence.

I turn to find him standing on his porch, leaning against the rail with a disapproving look at my outfit which is just the same as any other day.

"Yes" I say innocently, trying my best to act like this is just any regular day.

"I knew you weren't the lovey-dovey type but this kind of takes the prize" snorts Haymitch. "I wonder if Peeta knows what he's really getting himself into."

I blush.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You never were a good liar, sweetheart."

So he knows, or thinks he knows. I cock my neck, wondering how he could possibly have an idea what was going on, and send him a smirk.

"Not lying, Haymitch" I insist. "I'm heading out hunting. What were you expecting me to wear? A leotard?"

The suggestion makes him cackle and my smile widens a little.

"You had better hurry if you don't want to run into Lover Boy" he says. I don't know if I've ever heard him use that name for Peeta before. "He hasn't left yet but I'm betting he will real soon. He's never been much for tardiness, has he?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Haymitch" I insist and begin to walk.

"Sure you don't."

I hear him cackling at me behind my back as I hurry down towards the town. The walk feels longer than normal even though I'm taking fast, wide steps all the way there. Very few people are out when I arrive and that suits me just fine. I feel a bit like a criminal sneaking around when I walk inside the City Hall through a side entrance. I don't want to draw a lot of attention to myself. Today is for Peeta and me and nobody else.

Once inside City Hall it takes me half an hour to get ready and I find myself feeling strangely melancholy. My mother should have been here to help me dress. My sister should have been here to wish me well. Cinna should have been here to make last minute adjustments to the dress and my prep trio should have been here to help fix my hair and put on my makeup. Heck, even Effie should have been here to make sure I stuck with the schedule. Instead I'm all alone. Not even Haymitch is here to offer some mentoring advice.

As a result of me being alone my makeup ends up very basic, which actually does suit me quite alright. I braid a string of my hair on each side of my face and tie them together with a white band at the back of my head. The hair looks okay but it's obvious it was done by someone who doesn't put hair care high on her list of priorities. I put on the dress and wish I knew what to do to make it fit better but in the end maybe it's better left this way, the way Cinna originally made it, even if it does sit rather tight. I catch a glimpse in the mirror of the clock on the wall behind me and let out a nervous sigh. This is it. I'm going to be late if I stay here much longer and I don't want to keep him waiting.

I don't even know why I'm nervous. This is not some big shindig like they were going to throw us in the Capitol nor is it a wedding between two pretend lovers whose lives depend on them being able to give a convincing performance. It's merely signing of papers along with one or two other traditions picked up from other districts. In an effort to create unity among the people of Panem a process of mixing wedding traditions has begun though I'm not sure which ones are in use at this time nor have I given it any real thought before this moment. Whatever it is it's surely nothing to be nervous about. Especially since I _want_ this and I will be doing it with the man I love.

Maybe that's why I'm feeling nervous. Because this time it's for real. Peeta and me, binding our lives together forever. It may be a mere formality, after all I don't think two lives can be more bound together than ours have been for some time, but it actually means something this time. Not only that but it's a step I never ever thought I would take. The fact that I am now willing to enter a marriage has little to do with me feeling more secure about the future than I did before; it has to do with the knowledge that the things I feared about marriage are already part of my life. I never wanted to get married because I couldn't imagine allowing myself to care that deeply about another person but it turns out I had no choice in the matter. I fought it, tooth and nail, but the power of the emotion eventually turned out to be too strong for me to fight. I know I'm forever bound to Peeta whether we are married or not. Losing him won't devastate me any less because I don't refer to him as my husband. There doesn't seem to be much point in pretending otherwise.

Taking a deep, trembling breath I cast a last look at myself in the mirror. I decide I look decent enough and then I leave the room. The corridors of City Hall are empty and cold, made from stone and not exactly inviting. There are thick carpets on the floor that conceal the sound of my steps but that's about the only thing that's welcoming. The walls are bare right now but there have been several long discussions about decorating them with paintings. Peeta has been asked to contribute but he hasn't agreed to it yet. They want him to paint a mural of me as the Mockingjay and that I know he won't do. Not that he hasn't painted me that way before but there are some things he paints for the public eye and some things he paints for only us to see.

I come around a corner and then I see him, standing outside the door to the mayor's chambers, looking nervous as well. He's standing straight as an arrow with his hands clasped looking very formal. He's wearing a grey suit which might have been left over for him by Portia the same way my dress was left by Cinna. His ashen curls have been combed back from his face but other than that he doesn't look too different than normal which I appreciate. His blue eyes meet with mine and the smile on his face lets me know he finds me beautiful.

I smile back at him, not entirely sure what to say at a moment like this. I step closer and my mouth opens, spilling out the first thing that comes to mind.

"Hi."

"Hi yourself" he replies. "You look..."

"Yeah, you do too."

"Ready to do this?"

"Absolutely. Together?"

"Together."

I stop in front of him and reach for his hand. He takes it and immediately I feel much less nervous. We'll do this together, as we've done everything else. Hands intertwined we turn and face the door, expecting it to open at any moment.

"Haymitch knows" Peeta tells me while we wait for the mayor to open the door and let us in.

"I know" I reply. "Did he accost you too this morning?"

"Worse. He walked me to town."

I can't help but giggle at the mental image that brings to mind. Peeta nervous and uncomfortable, Haymitch doling out advice on things he knows nothing about. He has a tendency to fall back into his mentoring role with us sometimes and I can't say that I usually mind much but this is one subject he knows little to nothing about.

"Think he can keep it a secret?" I ask, looking at the door, wondering when it will open.

"Of course he can" answers Peeta. "If anybody knows what we would want for a day like today it's Haymitch."

The door finally opens and Mayor Wilcox welcomes us into his office. Hands still locked together we step inside and walk up to the large mahogany desk that was brought in from the Capitol just days after the City Hall building was completed. I can see the marriage license papers lying there, waiting for us. I want to sign them right away, get the moment over with. I don't care much about _getting_ married I just want to _be_ married.

"Now, you two" says Mayor Wilcox in his booming voice. "As you are aware the process of getting married has changed a bit since before the war."

I now learn exactly what the ceremony entails these days. First of all there needs to be a witness so the mayor's wife joins us from another room. Then Mayor Wilcox reads a text about love and companionship that sounds rather cheesy in my ears, apparently a tradition from former District 8, and we have to recite vows to one another. The vows are simple. Joined by our hands we look into each other's eyes and vow to always stay faithful, to always support one another, to both do our share to make a household work. We vow to stand by each other's side whether we be rich or poor, whether we are sick or healthy and whether times are good or bad and to forsake all others until death parts us. It's nothing we haven't already promised one another before.

The real surprise to me comes when Mayor Wilcox asks if we want to trade rings. In the Capitol it was a very important part of the ceremonies but in the districts few people could think of anything more wasteful than spending that much money on jewellery. I didn't know this could be included in the wedding ritual and if I had known I would have decided against it. So it comes as a shock to me when Peeta produces a small golden band and places it on my finger. I open my mouth to protest but then I see what is on the ring. It's adorned by a small pearl, smaller than the one Peeta once gave me on the beach of the second arena and it's shade is a bit more pink but I see the symbolism all the same. He doesn't know I kept that pearl with me and used it as a token of him when he was lost to me, nor does he know how much it pained me when I lost it during the bombings outside of President Snow's residence. The fact that he got me a ring with a pearl anyway means he still remembers that moment on the beach and that it holds the same symbolic value to him as it does to me. I'm stunned to silence and just stare at the ring on my finger while the mayor informs us that we won't be assigned a house seeing as we already own two of them.

Once we have signed the papers and Wilcox has congratulated us at our new state of matrimony we leave the office with no fanfare. The moment we're out the door I grab Peeta's right hand with my left, holding his hand with the hand of mine that now wears his ring.

"You remember the pearl" I whisper.

He nods and smiles.

"Let's go home and toast some bread" he says. "Then it will feel like we're really married."

With our free hands we push open the large doors leading out from the City Hall and to the town square. Then we both freeze. If we had any hope of keeping this day informal and personal that ship has sailed. Waiting for us out in the square is a crowd of people, most, if not all, there to catch a glimpse of us and to congratulate us. I share a shocked look with Peeta and realize that it's not been long enough for people to forget that we were once the star-crossed lovers of District 12.

I feel mostly awkward but admittedly a little touched when people in the crowd begin to applaud us. I have no idea how any of them found out we were getting married today. Certainly it was not Haymitch who told them. It must have been Mayor Wilcox or his wife, or perhaps we weren't quite so discreet as we thought we were.

After about fifteen seconds of applauding the crowd falls silent and instead of clapping they bring the three middle fingers of their left hands to their mouths and salute us in a gesture that has now become a sign of respect and of triumph. I laugh a little, touched by the sentiment, and share a look with my new husband. He grins back at me, looking like he too finds the moment both touching and awkward, and then we decide to give one last show for the crowds. We lean in to each other and share our first kiss as husband and wife. Behind us Mayor Wilcox' booming voice announces us to the crowd as Mr. and Mrs. Mellark and I feel myself blushing.

Hand in hand Peeta and I then try to make our way from the town square to the path that leads home. I'm vaguely aware that we still have bags of clothes left inside the City Hall but that can wait for some other time. We can't seem to get through the crowds however and after a few minutes we realize that there is a ride waiting for us.

It's nothing grand and speaks far more of the old District 12 than anything we saw in the Capitol but the sentiment touches me nonetheless. Smith, one of the first farmers who came here from former District 11 to start farming the lands, is offering us a ride home on his cart. Seeing no reason not to take him up on the offer now that our cover has been so spectacularly blown anyway I take his hand and let him help me up on the back of the cart. Peeta is up there with me in a few seconds and advises me to grab on to something. At first I don't know what he means but then the cart yanks as it begins to move and I nearly lose my balance. It feels rather silly to be standing there in a manner similar to the way we once did on the chariots before the Hunger Games but I allow it to happen and send a few smiles, waves and air-kisses to the crowds. This is not what I wanted for my wedding day but it doesn't feel as bad as I thought it would have to have the whole thing be so public. In a way it's almost relieving to make it official right away and not have to deal with that later on.

Once we clear the town area Peeta and I sit on the back of the cart, our feet hanging over the edge, watching the town get smaller and smaller. Peeta's hand is still in mine though now it is his left hand in my right. He gives me a look and reaches in to brush a strain of hair away from my face.

"You don't have to, you know" he says.

"Have to what?"

"Take my name. You can still be Katniss Everdeen if you like."

It takes me a second to formulate an answer.

"No" I then say. "I don't want to be Katniss Everdeen anymore. I'm taking your name."

I understand what he is trying to say when he tells me it's okay to keep my name. It has been my identity for so long and most other things that made up my identity have been stripped from me. Yet this is one part I have no trouble letting go of. If anything I'm glad to be setting aside the name Everdeen and taking Peeta's name in its place. Katniss Everdeen is the Mockingjay, the figurehead of the rebellion, a two time tribute in the Hunger Games. Katniss Mellark can be whoever she wants to be. The name sounds like it belongs to someone who lives in peace and tranquillity. Maybe it's because Peeta's name has been connected to hope for me for so long but there's something almost cathartic about changing my name. Like I am finally done with the war and with the Hunger Games and can start to build some form of future.

Peeta doesn't say anything else on the ride home and neither do I. We sit there in silence together, fingers intertwined, me shivering slightly in the still chilly wind. Peeta takes his jacket off and wraps it around my shoulders, then takes my hand again. When we reach the former Victor's Village farmer Smith pulls his cart to a stop and Peeta jumps down on the ground, turning around to help me get down without my dress getting dirtier than necessary. When we are both standing with our feet firmly on the ground we turn to Smith and thank him for the ride. He nods at us and heads off again, back to the other side of town where he has his farm.

It feels good to have a moment of solitude after the big hoopla at the town square. Peeta's arms are around my waist and I wrap my hands around his neck, my fingers playing with his hair.

"So..." I begin. "We're home."

"Home indeed."

We kiss and the hunger rises within me to a level it hasn't in a while now. It's always there though it varies in urgency and right now it's as strong as can be. I, who never planned to get married, am now standing outside my house kissing my husband. It's unreal to even think about it but it's legalized now. We're family, him and me, not just in our own eyes but in everybody else's too.

Well, almost. There's still one more thing left before we feel properly married. Peeta is the first to pull away from the kiss and from the embrace, taking my hand with a smile and leading me up the stairs to the front door.

"Come on" he says. "Let's toast that bread, shall we? It's still early, maybe we might even have time to..."

The thought dies on his lips as he opens the door and we realize it's not just Buttercup waiting to greet us. Haymitch and Greasy Sae are there and I swear Haymitch is even completely sober. Sae has dressed up in what is probably her finest garments even though they look rather worse for wear and Haymitch has donned one of his old suits even though his gut barely fits in it anymore.

"Finally" he announces, rising from his chair with a big grin. "Since when does getting hitched take so long? Did Katniss weep too much to sign the papers properly?"

I motion my hands as if picking up a bow and shooting an arrow at him but he just laughs.

"Fine. Probably it was Peeta who wept."

"I think _you_ were probably the one who wept since you didn't get to be there" Peeta teases him back. "And we would have been here sooner if we hadn't run into, oh I don't know, everyone in town. Mayor Wilcox can't seem to keep his big mouth shut."

"If you two thought you were discreet about all this you thought wrong" says Sae dryly. Then she nods towards the stove. "I took over that meal you two had started preparing. It's almost finished so come along in and have a seat."

"Not everyone we invited are here yet" I object.

"They're all in the dining room" says Haymitch. "Like Sae said, the pair of you are not even a little bit discreet. Hurry up and move, sweetheart, I'm starving."

I share a perplexed look with Peeta but we obediently follow Haymitch and Sae into the dining room. There we are greeted with cheers and congratulatory wishes and more than a few jabs on how our powers of stealth have worn off over the years. I'm not sure if I should be relieved that we don't have to make a big announcement or disappointed that we didn't get to break the news ourselves but at least the gathering is still small and intimate. More than one person jokes that they ought to have surprised us with a huge gathering of people and the very thought makes me uncomfortable. I think back to Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta's wedding and even though I had a lot of fun that night I remember feeling glad that I wasn't the one at the centre of attention.

As I sit down to eat I share a warm smile with Peeta, whose hand is still in mine. Peeta grabs his glass with his free hand and holds it up to get everyone's attention. Then he delivers a short but poignant speech in which he thanks everyone present for sharing this day with us and gets a few remarks in about formerly star-crossed lovers and what this marriage means to him, to us. I keep my eyes locked on him as he speaks, proud of having a husband who has such a way with words and quite glad that he manages to give this kind of speech without any of the overly sentimental things that tend to make me uncomfortable. When he's finished talking I reward him with a kiss and make a mental note to reward him further later.

Dinner is eaten. Pictures are taken. There's even a bit of dancing and Peeta manages to get Haymitch out of his chair and dancing with me. There is a lot of laughter and a lot of stories and a lot of kissing between me and my husband. It feels right. It feels good. It feels real.

* * *

Night has fallen by the time we are alone. Before everybody leaves they escort us to Peeta's house and sign the traditional song for us as we cross the threshold. It's fun but rather silly because once they're done we all turn around and head back to my house since that's where they expect us to spend the first night together. Peeta's house has not been lived in for months and needs a bit of freshening up before we can make it our permanent residence. We decided to postpone it until after the wedding since we had so much else going on that there didn't seem to be time for it.

It is Peeta who, once we are alone, suggests we do the toasting at his house since that is where we are going to live together. So in the dead of darkness we clean up after the small party and we turn off all the lights, then put on our coats to hurry over to the other house, hand in hand. Peeta prepares the bread while I gather some blankets on the rug in front of the fireplace in the sitting room. He joins me and together we get the fire going. The house is cold and I can almost see my own breath until the fire begins to catch on. We toast the bread and eat it with newly churned butter and goat cheese, making us really and truly married. The moment is just as secluded and intimate as I had wished it would be and when it's over we cuddle together under a thick blanket and eat some of the leftovers from the wedding cake even though we're both quite full already.

"Here we are" I say after a while, breaking the silence that came with eating cake. "Married. Who would have ever thought?"

"Not me" says Peeta so empathetically that I know he means it.

It surprises me a little. Even though I know he spent years admiring me from afar and far too long a time knowing I had at least partially faked my affections for him in the arena I still would have thought he'd have believed we would reach this point.

I set down my spoon and stick my hand under the blanket, reaching for his hand.

"When I looked at the bread we toasted... I thought of the bread you gave me all those years ago. That night in the rain when we were eleven. Did I ever tell you that I hated you for it when we first became tributes? I thought it would take your death for me to live and the more likeable you were and the more I owed you the more difficult it became to think about your death."

"And what about now?" he asks, looking at me.

"Now I find you even more likeable."

He looks like he's about to laugh but before he can do that I give him a tender kiss. When our lips part we stare into each other's eyes while I remove a lock of his hair from his brow.

"Do you want to go upstairs?" he asks in a slightly hoarse whisper. "Mrs. Mellark."

"No" I say, shaking my head.

Peeta looks a bit surprised by my answer but before he can begin to wonder why I'm not taking him up on his offer I kiss him again, more hungrily this time. With one arm wrapped around him I push him down on his back with me on top of him. My ring clad left hand finds its way underneath the blanket and begins to unbutton his shirt.

"Upstairs..." I say between kisses, "is far... too far away... Don't you agree? I'm far too... hungry for you and... you're right here."

* * *

Twelve years after I proposed we sit together in another chair in another house watching another fire slowly die. I'm feeling a little bit better today and my mind keeps going back to how it's now been thirteen weeks since I first suspected I was pregnant. That's three months of hiding monumental news from the person I'm not supposed to have any secrets from.

Peeta is completely relaxed, resting from a long day of painting a mural in the newly built library. Normally not the most strenuous work imaginable but it's over a hundred degrees out and not much cooler inside the library building so it surprises me that he agreed to start a fire at all this evening. I rest my head on his shoulder with his arm draped around me and watch the steady rising and falling of his chest and I feel his right thumb occasionally stroke my arm. Suddenly I am overcome with a longing to not be alone with my big secret anymore. It's been long enough. I'm more than three months pregnant and so far everything has progressed as it should. It's time Peeta knew.

I lift my head up and look at him. He doesn't meet my eyes at first, staring at the fire with a look like he might go to sleep down here rather than drag himself all the way upstairs to our bedroom. After about a minute he notices me looking at him and meets my eyes.

"Tired?" I ask.

"Who knew painting could be this exhausting?"

"You haven't told me what motive you're painting" I say. "Is it a surprise for the big opening of the library or can the wife of the painter know beforehand?"

He's quiet for a second, as if wondering how to explain what he chose to paint.

"It took me a while to decide what to put on there" he says. "It's a library so I felt it should be something from a book, you know? A fictional book, not those dreary history books we've all been forced to read at school. So I sat down the other week and looked through some of the books that have been sent here for the library. Just by reading the backs of them it's clear we've missed out on a lot of good stories courtesy of the damn Capitol. Hunts for giant white sea creatures, magical rings of power, all sorts of things."

"What did you decide on?"

"In the end I didn't go with any of those adult oriented books... It seems to me like we're never more hungry for stories or have a wider imagination than when we are children and so the mural in the library should be something that captivates the minds of little kids. I found a storybook for children and the one I chose for the mural is about a little girl with a red coat who goes into the woods to bring her grandmother supplies when she is sick."

"Sounds admirable."

"The story is far darker than it seems. She meets a wolf in the forest and he intercepts to kill both her and the grandmother."

"You chose _that_ to inspire children? It sounds very dark and grim."

"I chose it _because_ of that" says Peeta. "It's a morality tale of course but the main thing is that it's got this innocent girl put in harm's way at a place where she feels safe. Maybe it's not such a bad idea for kids to learn to be on their guard, you know?" He smirks. "Also I liked the visual image of the dark woods and the girl in the bright, red coat."

"I bet people will love it" I say supportively.

"I had to put up a bit of a fight to be allowed to do it" he admits. "The library board wanted a mural aimed for adults."

"I think your reasoning makes better sense" I say. "You always have had a way of keeping the children in mind."

He shrugs.

"I've always enjoyed kids."

I nod.

"I'm glad to know that you still do" I say. "Since you're having one of your own."

The look he gives me is so confused that I can't stop myself from smiling. I reach down and grab the hand he has wrapped around me and I move it down to my stomach.

"I don't understand" says Peeta.

"I'm pregnant" I tell him.

It takes a few seconds for it to sink in. Then he jolts up to a more straight position and looks at me with trepidation rather than the overwhelming joy I was expecting.

"Katniss..." he says carefully, talking to me like I'm a wounded animal. "I don't know how this happened and I know you don't want it but please... Please listen to me."

Before he can continue I take his face between my hands and smile reassuringly.

"Peeta don't worry. You're going to be a father." Slowly he begins to look more relaxed. "I'm not going to do anything to jeopardize this. That's not the plan. I know exactly how this happened; it happened because I stopped taking my pills. It's happening because I want it to happen." A smile begins to spread across his face. "I want to give you a baby. I'm scared but I want to be a parent with you. It's real. It's very much real."

"Are... you sure?" he asks with a happy laugh.

"Yeah" I nod. "It's why I've been feeling so tired and sick to my stomach these past few months. I wanted to surprise you but I was afraid of telling you too soon if things didn't go well."

His eyes trail down my body and stop at my stomach. His hand reaches out and caresses the spot where our baby rests. He then looks up at me, still with disbelief.

"What made you change your mind?"

"You" I say. "You did."

"I haven't even mentioned having children in over a year now."

"I know" I nod. "Still I know how badly you want to have them and I am I'm willing to do it."

He leans down and plants the most gentle kiss on my lips.

"I love you" he says. "You know that, right? I tell you that, don't I?"

"I love you too" I answer.

"Are you really serious?" he then asks, laughing. "We're having a baby?"

"Yeah" I nod. Then I smirk at him and give him a playful punch on the shoulder. "I can't believe you didn't figure it out. It's been three months of me constantly sick to my stomach and very irritable. Not to mention some other rather telling signs."

"You're getting better at lying" he smirks back. "You had me fooled with your weird stomach bug thing." He kisses me again. "I can't tell you how happy I am that it's this instead."

"You'd better be happy" I reply, wrapping my arms around his neck.

"I can't believe we're having a baby" he laughs happily against my lips. Then he pulls back again. "How are _you_ feeling? Sick? Tired?"

"I'll manage" I say, not wanting to darken his spirits with details like that. Not right now.

"We can go to the pharmacy, find something for the nausea. I want this kid, so bad, but I want you to be feeling good as well."

"Peeta I'm fine" I say. "The nausea will go away. The rest I can live with. It's only for a few months, anyway."

The smile on his face grows wider than I ever thought possible.

"And then we'll have a child" he says. "A little us. Can you even imagine it?"

"No" I say honestly.

"A little kid... A little boy or girl."

"A boy, I think" I say. For some reason when I picture us with a kid it's always a boy. A little version of Peeta, but one who is safe and sound and who will never have to experience the horrors his father has known. Someone I could protect where I failed to protect Peeta.

"You hope it's a boy?" smiles Peeta.

"I _think_ it's a boy." In a way it is weird to even speculate when there are no signs that point more to one or the other. "I mean... That's what I picture. Though what do I know?"

"We can find out" says Peeta. "If you'd like."

The thought has crossed my mind on occasion. After the war a large medical station, a hospital really, was set up in town and after a couple of years they brought in sonograms. A lot of women like to get ultrasounds when they are pregnant but I can't see much purpose to it. They say they get them to tell if the baby is healthy but I worry that it might be bad for the baby to expose it to the sonogram. The other reason they get ultrasounds is to find out the sex of the child but I see no point in that either since we'll find out when the baby comes.

"No" I tell Peeta. "Let's be surprised. It's not like it matters or like we can do much about it either way. We're having what we're having."

"A baby" he says, brimming with happiness. "I cannot believe it... We're having a baby. And you're right, it doesn't matter if it's a boy or a girl. So long as it's ours, what else matters?"

"That it's safe" I point out. "That it's _healthy_. That it's happy."

"It will be" assures Peeta. "He or she is going to be the safest, healthiest, happiest kid who ever lived in former District 12."

He kisses me again, this time long and lingering. We part for air and then kiss again. This time I can feel something else in his kiss, something I know very well. When our lips part he looks at me with excitement and lust.

"Peeta..." I say softly.

"How _are_ you feeling?" he asks, voice a touch hoarse. "Well enough to come with me upstairs and... properly celebrate?"

Poor Peeta. I feel bad for him. He was a perfect gentleman for a long time when we were teenagers, spending many nights sleeping tightly with me yet never pressing his advantages. Once our relationship evolved and we became lovers, both emotionally and physically, he's been anything but chaste. We have enjoyed an active sexlife during our fifteen years together. There have been occasional dry spells but for the most part we've both had strong urges and made sure to keep each other satisfied. During the past three months however I've been anything but enthused about sex. It's hard to feel aroused when you're nauseous and uncomfortable, not to mention hiding a huge secret from your husband. Peeta has accepted my lack of interest without complaint, probably thinking it's the made-up stomach bug that has caused it, but I know it's been difficult for him.

I want to give him what he desires, especially when we're having a milestone moment in our marriage. Still, I'm not exactly enthused by the idea of a long, passionate romp between the sheets. I don't think my stomach can handle it.

"Peeta..." I begin, but the look on his face makes it hard to say no, even though I know he would understand. "Let's go upstairs" I say instead. "Just... Let's try and not be too... I mean, the more still I could be, the better. Since my stomach is not quite fine yet."

"We don't have to, Katniss."

"Come on" I say, standing up and taking his hand to pull him out of the chair. "You're right, we should celebrate."

He needs it, I can tell. There's a part of me that really wants it, too. I miss that intimacy between us when we go too long without. Not just for the pleasure but for the emotional connection and the physical closeness. I never can get quite enough of his body close to mine, never fully satiate that hunger. Besides, he hasn't gotten much over the last three months. It's bound to not last very long tonight.

Before we head upstairs we turn off all the lights and put the fire out. We take our time, even though I know Peeta wants to be under the covers as soon as possible, and go through our normal nightly routine before getting into bed. We brush our teeth, Peeta opens a window, his prosthetic is taken off and put by the side of the bed. He's in bed before I am since I decide to put my hair up in a braid first and it takes me a little while to comb through all the tangles. Once I'm done I join him in the bedroom and begin to undress. I stop when I've lifted my top over my head, noticing Peeta's fascination as he eyes my stomach.

"I can't grasp it" he says with awe.

I step closer and he scoots over to the edge of the bed. I'm glad that he is so excited but his happiness is not enough to overcome the unsettling worry that is still over me. In a way it's become even more real now that Peeta knows, now that it's been spoken out loud. Until tonight it was my secret but now it's an acknowledged fact: We're having a baby.

I stand by the side of the bed, resting my hands on Peeta's shoulders while he gently caresses my stomach and admires it with an amazed expression on his face. There's not much to caress. No beginnings of a baby bump. If anything I'm thinner than I was three months ago thanks to the lack of appetite and the vomiting. Yet Peeta caresses me like I have a huge pregnant belly. He keeps it up for so long that I almost begin to think he has forgotten about his previous desires.

"You look so beautiful" he murmurs.

"I look the same" I point out.

"No" says Peeta, and I pray he won't start waxing about how I have a 'glow' about me. He doesn't. He just slides his hands further down and unbuttons my pants. I let him pull them down below my hips and then I step out of them, letting them lie where they fall. Peeta moves back on the bed and invites me in with him. I climb up and into his welcoming arms, the nausea having faded a little bit. We kiss and the feeling of dread that came over me when he touched my stomach vanishes. This feels right. Him and me, sharing this information. We're going to be parents. Peeta knows, and I'm no longer dealing with it all alone.

Maybe that's a reason why I've felt so desolate at times, these past months. I haven't carried any burden on my own since forever. Peeta has always carried my burdens with me, same as I have helped him carry his. We've long since stopped dealing with hardships on our own. We protect each other, carry each other and comfort each other.

I've been alone in this pregnancy for three months. Now Peeta knows and we're going to go through the rest of it together.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Please review =)


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